


Miss Paragon

by AcquaSole



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: "Oops I caught feels and am now panicking", Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fashion & Couture, Feelings Realization, Jewelry, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28635462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/pseuds/AcquaSole
Summary: Glitter, glamour, glitz—the hallmarks of Hilda’s world—are no match for the seemingly blinding light of Marianne von Edmund.Written for the FE3H Big Bag AU in collaboration with Plum!
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Kudos: 26
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Colour

**Author's Note:**

> This was a project a few months in the making, and while I do have more chapters planned, the first three will be published this weekend and the last two on the next per Big Bag rules. It's the first time I've been part of a group project like this and I hope to be involved in more in the future. This is also going to be involved in a greater miniseries but first I have to uhhhhh think about my other wips hahaha
> 
> This was written in collaboration with a lovely artist, Plum (Plumtea_remus on twitter)! I had so much fun making fashion moodboards with her, researching different looks for our ladies, and just being happy over being involved in a marihilda project. Please check her out! She's an absolute sweetheart and honestly 80% of my motivation. Thank you so much Plum :3
> 
> Thank you also to Lunabird and CrescentViolett for betaing!

“Wow, this is an early call—good morning! You’ve reached the offices of Valentine, how may I help you? Oh, yes, actually, this is Goneril speaking. Yes. Yes. Today? That’s perfect! I wasn’t expecting the delivery for at least another week but this is wonderful, thank you! I’ll be out at the back entrance once it comes over. Have a good day!”

The phone made a soft click as she placed it back on the receiver. Stretching luxuriously in her seat, Hilda sighed, brimming with a sunny happiness. 

As someone who took the psychology of colour completely seriously, Hilda made sure to surround herself with pink—’full of red’s energy yet tempered by the presence of white or blue,’ the pros’ books declared. Her office was coated in a piping hot shade veering dangerously close to red, because while red was the standard of blood, anger, and lust, it also represented passion, strength, and love. It painted a marked contrast to the rest of the building’s softer tones. Hilda planned every detail of the place’s aesthetics down to what brands of pencils and toilet paper were stocked, and while the lower floors were designed to be mindful of her customers’ and employees’ needs, her office was her own sanctuary. Its fiery bright walls added to Hilda’s early morning zest as she opened the calendar app on her tablet to start planning the day around the recent news. 

Valentine had made a name for itself over the last four years. Hilda’s interest in crafts started from way before she could walk, but it was at Garreg Mach where she learned to let go of the stigma she unconsciously listened to as an invalid career path; a silly hobby born out of her image of a ditzy, lazy rich girl who would sooner die rather than engage in ‘real work.’ 

“If you like it so much, then it’s not silly at all,” she remembered professor Eisner saying one rainy afternoon. “It’s understandable to be afraid of disappointing others. But you shouldn’t have to force yourself to adopt an entire persona and lie to yourself like this, especially not when it’s clear that it makes you happy.” 

It did make her happy back then, and it still made her happy now; the necklace she made for Raphael’s little sister Maya made them both smile so much when she gifted it to her. Those smiles convinced Hilda of the path she wanted to take in life, and that necklace became the prototype for a product that had sales people blowing up her mobile day and night. Four years of university, one failed online shop—followed by a successful one—, a first brick and mortar store in Derdriu, and then a small wave of expansions across Leicester and the rest of Fódlan turned that small hobby of Hilda’s into a multimillion dream come true. 

And now, fresh off the phone with a representative from Victor Trading, that dream would soon take a step further. 

‘Letty,’ Hilda began to text her assistant. ‘I’m already at Valentine and I’m just taking care of a few dailies before opening up. Let me know when you get here!’ She punctuated the text with a signature pink heart emoji. 

Hilda was always the first at the store. Arriving an hour early before opening gave her time to check emails, sort some files, and complete an inspection lap around the premises. Not that she didn’t trust her staff to leave the place spotless after closing—and she was always the last to leave too—but the routine left Hilda with a deep sense of comfort. It felt nice to survey the fruits of her labour. Well, more like bask in the rays of her success. That, and it meant she got to snag breakfast at the cute eateries close by before the rest of the morning crowd. Why go through the doldrums of cooking at home when she could just buy her food?

Finishing the day’s calendar took around three minutes. The inspection lingered a little longer just because she liked to bask in the visual beauty of her ( _ her! _ ) business. Her plush feathered slippers felt oh so nice—she always wore slippers or cushioned ballet flats on the job because, as gorgeous as high heels and wedges were, daily use meant ending up with horrible, bunioned toes pushed inwards into a tight triangle of deformed flesh. Hilda learned  _ that _ particular lesson during a print campaign featuring a famous octogenarian diva of the Mittelfrank Opera Company: the woman had aged extremely well and still dressed fabulously, but the moment her shoes came off in the makeup room? It was a wonder Hilda hadn’t immediately run for the hills. To think she’d flaunted sky-high shoes at uni, unknowingly coming close to feet like that!

“Good morning, Miss Goneril!” Letty—her name was Leticia but everyone just called her Letty—chirped brightly as she walked through the main doors, leaning in to exchange a kiss on each cheek. “I’m so excited for today! I just can’t wait for the delivery!”

Such a chic young lady! Hilda hired Letty right after trawling through the then-influencer’s Instaglam page, falling in love with her unique sense of fashion and bubbly attitude. It was a decision that paid off beautifully. “Good morning to you too Letty! I can’t believe it’s coming a week early… it gives us so much extra time for finishing the project, and hopefully we can have some finished pieces out for a small collection by next year.”

“I just saw your updates to the calendar, so that weird free slot we had at the end of the day means we can actually move that meeting with sales to Thursday like they wanted.”

“Please send them an email as soon as possible about that. I love them but they were sooo insistent about Thursday and it was driving me up the wall! Do we have extra cleaning kits ready? Photography said they just ran out and need a few for a shoot.”

“Done and done! Lear actually asked yesterday before closing and he’ll get access to storage as soon as he comes in.”

“Excellent,” Hilda said, beaming. 

A few other employees began to trickle in throughout the hour, but Valentine still remained rather quiet. All Hilda needed to do was go down to the archives to pick up some physical copies of documents for the day, bring them back up to her office, and cross reference them with her mail—so, so many emails. One thing school somehow didn’t manage to teach everyone was the sheer amount of messaging involved in a workspace, which was, frankly speaking, bullshit. At least getting that done meant breakfast right after. Hilda greeted Mrs. Flynn, their main archivist, and produced her master key for access to a massive drawerful of manila folders. She pulled out three and skipped back to her office for the long typing session to follow. 

Halfway through the first folder, Letty knocked on the office door and poked her head in, with an odd sort of grin that Hilda only saw on her when she was being provocative. “You have some visitors at the front door, Miss Goneril—as in, they asked about you specifically.”

Visitors? Valentine didn’t have any unscheduled appointments, much less anyone asking for Hilda personally and calling it a visit. So early on a work day even! Letty’s knowing smile, the one that curled the corners of her mouth and pressed her lips tightly together in an attempt to milk the moment for its worth—but also dying to spill whatever she was going to say— prompted a sigh from Hilda. “Letty, dear, it’s way too early for you to play coy with me, so spit it out.”

“But Miss Goneril, the surprise is part of the fun! Why don’t you come downstairs to see who it is?”

Okay, that was even weirder. Letty liked to poke fun at Hilda sometimes but usually didn’t stretch those little games. Who on earth could have gotten this reaction from her? 

“Fiiine, I’ll be down Letty, but this better be a good reason.”

“Oh, trust me, it’s  _ definitely _ a good one.”

More people arriving at Valentine meant more noise, more hustle and bustle as they started their day’s worth of work; saying their hellos to colleagues, sharing gossip and weekend updates, all in all the scene of a normal Monday. Hilda took it in happily. Though Valentine was her dream, it wouldn’t have succeeded without the effort of other designers, artists, photographers, smiths, and cleaners. She exchanged greetings with everyone they crossed and a warm hug with Mrs. Neil, the head cleaner and a lovely grandmotherly woman who always chided the rest of the staff for not taking care of their health better. The grand double staircase echoed with noise as Hilda and Letty descended to the lobby. 

Valentine was headquartered in a historic building in Deirdru’s city centre. It used to be one of the many outposts belonging to the Goneril family within the Alliance’s capital, but the Divestment Act of 2004 stripped a great deal of wealth from the nobility, inspired by many contemporary Faerghan reforms. Hilda won the small estate back after a fierce bidding war and a small loan from her parents (who she suspected were eyeing the property anyways), though she did need to apply for certain government papers given the place’s age. At least the tourists who came to gawk and take pictures of its Floweresque façade for their social media drove some extra business their way…

…But the pair of warmly dressed people waiting at the front desk were most certainly not tourists. 

“M-Marianne?” Hilda squeaked loudly. 

Richard Clement von Edmund was an ascendant force in Alliance politics: known for his abrasive, confrontational speeches at parliament, though fiercely protective of his private life and affairs outside the conference floor. Many a newspaper across Leicester dedicated a good portion of their coverage to either singing his praises or condemning him. And yet the steely man was somehow nonchalantly thumbing through one of the catalogues stacked neatly next to the front desk’s seasonal flower arrangement…pointing out certain pieces to his young companion. 

“Hello, Hilda,” Marianne von Edmund greeted softly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

_ Four years, _ Hilda didn’t say, only managing a nervous gulp. “Y-yeah, long time! It’s so good to see you though! What a nice surprise!” She swooped in for a cheek kiss but caught herself right on time with the inner reminder that such gestures were uncommon outside Adrestia. Damned Letty rubbing off on her!

Did she imagine the blush on Marianne’s face as they stepped back from each other?

“Miss Goneril, lovely to see you. I trust your parents are well? I’ve been in contact with Holst as of late, but your father and mother prove to be more elusive than they let on.” Richard extended his hand for a good firm shake, with a strength belying his lean appearance. “A pity they’ve not been available for tea.”

“Oh, dad’s been on this health kick recently, so he and mum decided to travel more to the coast for the air and change of pace.” The coast in question lay close to the Adrestian border despite the fact that Derdriu had an entire sea open to it. Or that ancestral Goneril lands bordered the ocean anyways. “They’ve been thinking about buying a cottage near Ordelia and they’ve been visiting Lysithea’s parents a lot. But enough about us—to what do I owe the pleasure of Edmund company? It’s not every day I get visits from politicians!”  _ Their wives on the other hand… _

“That is actually a question Marianne is better equipped to answer. I was merely her convenient escort for the morning, but now that I’ve fulfilled my purpose, it’s high time I walk back to the Palace and get a move on with my paperwork.” And with that, Richard made a show of checking his watch, kissing Marianne goodbye, and waving as he exited to the busy Derdriu street outside. 

Letty giggled as she watched the gears turn inside Hilda’s head. Hilda, however, was a touch too frazzled to fire back with a witty retort, wondering what to do now that it was just Marianne with them. 

Marianne, the girl who fell out of her life for four years and whose sudden re-entry now forced Hilda to face her confused feelings once more. 

Hilda tried to busy herself with the front desk’s flowers—daphne, heather, and quince—in an attempt to act natural. Goddess, what should she even say?  _ ‘Sorry for being so hot and cold to you during our school days’? ‘Sorry for not keeping in touch for almost half a decade’? _

“Sorry to spring this on you so suddenly Hilda… but I’m glad I could find you after all this time. It’s a business matter, actually. I couldn’t think of anyone better to do it.” Marianne’s smile was small. Minute, even, but it was such a rarity compared to the shrinking violet from their university days. One of the last things Hilda remembered back then was the fateful tea party when Marianne actually laughing in front of her forced Hilda to confront the fact that she found shy Miss Edmund  _ cute. _

“O-oh, I don’t mind at all! I’m super flattered you thought about me, even!”

“Don’t mind my father though. He’s…well, he’s a good man, but he can be pretty short to others without meaning to. And he recommended you, actually; said a colleague’s wife is a frequent client. I can see why! You’ve really made a name for yourself doing the things you love, and not a lot of people manage to reach that.” 

Damned Letty with that smug look on her face, obviously waiting to pester Hilda once they were alone. Hilda would never hear the end of it, not when Letty had access to her private email, her calendar app, knew her LiveChat and Instaglam and everything else. That woman had a bloodhound’s nose for gossip, especially of the sentimental kind, so the best Hilda could do at the moment was stall, stall,  _ stall _ . 

“Why don’t we talk this over breakfast? My treat. There are a lot of great cafés and bistros nearby and it’s still early enough that we can grab good seats. They also have really good views across the water!”

Normally, Marianne would refuse offers of any kind. Now, her small smile grew wider. “That sounds lovely. I wouldn’t want to impose though, so why don’t you pick the place for us?”

Good Goddess above, was that  _ confidence? _

“S-sure! I know just the place,” Hilda laughed nervously, fetching her coat and boots from the staff closet. She shot dagger eyes at Letty behind Marianne’s back, mouthing ‘behave!’ as she and her guest exited the premises.

Derdriu was as beautiful as always. While the city attracted most of its tourism in summer, winter held its own type of allure; the cold sun would make steam rise from the partially frozen canals and sea in a thick curtain, hiding everything mysteriously. It made for a popular setting in old detective movies for that reason. Creamy marble buildings would occasionally be revealed through the mist, prancing deer and curling flowers carved into centuries old stone. Native Derdrians managed the brume just fine, expertly navigating through it without so much as brushing against others, but the occasional tourist sometimes slipped on the wet pavement or caused some jostling. 

Despite the pleasant walk, Hilda couldn’t help but feel nervous over their total silence. 

Thankfully they arrived at their destination soon enough, a fashionable pedestrian avenue populated by charming cafés and restaurants and pubs where a single espresso could set you back  ₱10, but at least the atmosphere and food made more than up for the exorbitant pricing. Hilda found an empty two-person table at her favourite place and flagged down a waitress. 

“I’ll have a rose petal tea to start, thanks,” Hilda said after perusing the drinks card. “And my, uh, friend would like…?”

“Lavender tea, thank you.” Marianne bowed her head politely as the waitress left with their order. 

They had front-row seats to the expanse of Derdriu’s bay. The sun climbing higher in the sky helped burn off most of the mist, though the air stayed cold and dry and ice glittered diamond bright on the water. This was one of Hilda’s favourite spots in the city. She loved watching the well-dressed crowds, the sight of boats gliding across the sea, the sound of a live string band setting up their instruments and the scent of potted flowers and the striped patio umbrellas shading them. Hard to enjoy all that with Marianne around though. She said she wanted to discuss something business related…Hilda’s thoughts felt just as shaky as her hands. Her everyday routine interrupted by the sudden interruption of the girl she’d thought about for a long, long,  _ long _ time certainly shook her poised image. 

_ Good thing she can’t read minds, _ Hilda sighed to herself, clenching her hands in her lap. “So! I know you’re not much for small talk, so how about we cut to the chase? Something pretty you’ve got your eye on?”

“…You could say that. I’m afraid it’s much more complicated than a single piece of jewellery…and I, well, learned about it because of gossip,” Marianne admitted, eyes slightly downcast but not completely lowered like she used to do.

“Oooh, Miss Marianne von Edmund _ listening to gossip? _ Time really does change us!” Hilda giggled. “What kind of gossip? I’m assuming it’s about Valentine since we’re here for business.”

“Yes, and I heard it from one of your customers actually, a Mrs. Bentham. Her husband’s a colleague of my father’s and she wears a lot of your jewellery. I overheard her talking to a friend while at the Palace, and she kept mentioning how you were planning to start making clothes soon. I…I know she’s not really the most reliable source of information, but I wanted to make sure for myself…”

“Unfortunately for me, the cat’s out of the bag! Honestly, I love her, she’s a sweet client and super nice to my staff, but the  _ worst _ at keeping things to herself,” Hilda groaned, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t even tell her directly! She overheard me on the phone with Letty close to closing time one day and I didn’t mind her hanging around so late because she’s been buying from us for so long.” 

Their conversation was briefly interrupted by the waitress arriving with their tea and two menus. Hilda and Marianne ordered briskly but held the pause to sip at their hot drinks. 

After a long drag of candy-pink tea, Hilda sighed again. “So yeah. I’m hoping to make the leap into fashion soon.”

“You say that so casually, as if you don’t have celebrities wearing your jewellery.” Marianne smiled over the rim of her cup. Was the cold dusting her cheeks pink, or was that embarrassment? No no no, over analysing things would only make the situation awkward! 

“Aw, flatterer! I’ll admit, I didn’t really think I could get this far starting from the pasta necklaces I made as a kid, or even when I made that piece for Maya. But it still feels pretty surreal. Seeing that others actually like the things I do…that they want more and they’re willing to  _ pay _ for it!”

“And here we are,” Marianne said quietly. 

The waitress came back again with their breakfast: a single peach marmalade pastry for Marianne, and strawberry muesli with yoghurt for Hilda. They started off with a few tentative bites, some platitudes about how much they liked the food, but the itchy nervousness gnawing at Hilda inhibited part of her sense of taste. Did Marianne come to commission her? If so, why come so early and in person? Not that Hilda wasn’t excited over the prospect—completely the opposite in fact!—but four years was a long time between them. How could she broach the subject without sounding too needy and desperate and  _ weird? _

To Hilda’s immense relief, Marianne bit the bullet for her. 

“I actually want to ask you a favour if you don’t mind, and it’s a fairly big one, so I understand if you don’t want to or don’t have any time for it. But like I said before…I couldn’t think of anyone better.” She wiped her mouth delicately with a cloth napkin. “When I heard Mrs. Bentham saying that, I was hoping you could design something for me. For the Millennium Festival.”

“Wait. The Millennium Festival?” 

“Yes—I’ve been invited to speak at Garreg Mach. So were Ferdinand, Sylvain, Dimitri—”

“Woah woah woah,  _ the _ Millennium Festival! Marianne, that’s so amazing! You used to be so afraid of public speaking before!”

Marianne now did hide her face a bit, chin tucked into her coat. But her expression was of shy pleasure, of genuine excitement, and the girl from four years ago seemed farther away than ever; Hilda couldn’t quite decide if that worried her or not, so she decided to leave that for later. What mattered now was Marianne’s big moment. And that big moment could prove to be pivotal for Valentine’s development as well, so why not hit two birds with one stone?

“Tell me  _ everything,” _ Hilda gushed, pushing aside her breakfast to lean closer. “Not just anyone gets an invite as a speaker, and if you’re sharing the stage with people like Dimitri, then it means you’re in the big leagues now!” She would never admit that she regularly read tabloids and thus knew that their old year mate had been dubbed ‘pirate-king hottie’ by the media due to his eyepatch. Marianne was now far too important to be privy to that information. 

“W-we-e-ell…I just went straight to my father’s circle after graduating. I’m not going to say it’s not, well, nepotistic in nature, but he’s a very driven man and he taught to earn what I work for. He gave me a big opportunity by taking me under his wing after school. Being able to go back to Garreg Mach as a guest shows that his efforts have paid off, that I have a bigger platform with which to help my constituents with.” 

Hilda wasn’t a natural pessimist, but something deeply cynical and derisive in her wanted to roll its eyes at that last part—politics and altruism weren’t known bedmates.  _ Keep it down,  _ she warned herself. No need to add politics of all things into the struggle concerning her feelings over Marianne. 

That, and Hilda was a tad miffed over the other woman not immediately spilling all the juicy details she secretly wanted to hear about. Garreg Mach was notoriously secretive when it came to its activity planning. 

“Marianne, dear Marianne, I’m so excited for you, and I know you’ll absolutely kill it up there. But since you did look for me specifically over what Bentham said, I don’t think it takes much guesswork to say you want a cute new outfit for the Festival.” Hilda uncrossed her legs and leaned back in her chair with a smirk beginning to curl her lips. 

Marianne exhaled a bit nervously. “Yes. I-I’m not looking for anything extravagant or expensive. I just want to show everyone else that I can look like I belong up there with them. With the likes of Dimitri and Sylvain and Ferdinand and Claude.” 

_ You’re an Edmund: no one’s going to be doubting you, _ Hilda thought. And since when did Marianne care so much for appearances? “You’ve come to the right place! I should be thanking  _ you _ for giving us this great opportunity, so it’s a win-win situation for us both! But first…” Hilda produced her phone and opened the notes app quickly. “Tell me what you’re looking for in an outfit. Before we get to the designing stage, we need to brainstorm this and outline your perfect look: what kind of silhouettes you like, any fabrics, detailing, style icons you look up to, length and cut, colour, weight…”

“Oh, I don’t know much about those things, I’m afraid.” Marianne blinked, slightly taken aback at Hilda’s list. 

Now Hilda didn’t want to be mean, but beneath Marianne’s long winter coat…well. The Duke’s Palace was populated by wealthy and powerful politicians, but Marianne’s clothes looked better suited for an office worker: sensible loose trousers, a button-up, and a blazer. All in varying shades of grey. Not good or bad, just…boringly normal. Marianne evidently dressed for comfort and professionalism, an attitude Hilda understood though ultimately disliked; prioritising arbitrary terms like ‘professionalism’ meant stifling personal expression and creativity to her. She mused over her own bubblegum pink fur coat and crushed velvet thigh-high boots. 

“What do you usually wear outside of work then?” Hilda had a few quick spoonfuls of her muesli and opened up her browser—some of her other clients had difficulties describing what they looked for in a design, so searching through Moogle often proved to be very helpful. 

“Comfortable things, mostly. I’m not really the sort who has a lot of tight and short things—” Hilda had an inadvertent flashback to Marianne’s baggy sweaters in school and her own very tight, very short weekend clubbing ensembles—”and I like cozy clothes.”

That tracked from what Hilda remembered. At least Marianne’s current outfit was better tailored than the frumpy, oversized  _ everything  _ she used to wear even on hot days, not to mention her somewhat unkempt hairstyle, dark under-eye bags and perpetual mumble. But now? Marianne could hold a sustained conversation with minimal stuttering and seldom looked away. Her clothes no longer worked as another means with which to hide herself from the world.

Confidence looked good on Marianne. But Hilda could make it so that Marianne looked even better. 

“Tell you what,” Hilda announced, clearing her throat in an attempt to disguise her slight spacing out as having been lost in fashion-planning thought. “Why don’t you just take pictures of what’s in your closet and you can send them to me? You don’t have to struggle with the right words and I get to do a sort of analytical deep-dive into what your wardrobe says about you. Kind of like…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Like those magazine horoscopes, and what they say about lucky numbers and items and stuff. Or an MBTI profile. The point is that I think that’d work better, so what do you say?”

The blush from before returned to Marianne’s face, only it was deeper, richer. A little ghost of her past self reared into view with the wordless falter of her lips, and all she could manage was “a-are you sure?”

“Yeah, it won’t be too much trouble. We just have to swap numbers and that’s it!”

At least Miss Politician had Linechat. Her profile picture was a normal headshot, professionally taken and ostensibly also used for work conversations, but for Hilda it was enough. Beaming, they settled into a more relaxed quiet and finished off their breakfasts. From there they segued into more mundane conversational topics like what they saw recently on television, family matters, work, their friends from university, and funny anecdotes. After Hilda paid they started the short walk back to Valentine, fully immersed in easy chatting. 

“Thank you very much, Hilda. It truly was a pleasure to see you again, and I’m very excited to be working with you,” Marianne said. 

“The pleasure is all mine!” Hilda replied. Once Valentine came into view, she held open the door for Marianne, fully intending to squeeze in a few more minutes of their exciting new partnership before getting back to her usual. 

Marianne shook her head. “Sorry, it’s best I start heading back to the Palace—there are some documents that need my attention. But we can talk later, can’t we? At what time are you available?” 

“Valentine’s hours are 7 AM through 7 PM, though you can also catch me at 6 AM. It stays closed on Sundays. Though after work I usually try to mix up my plans, like, sometimes I meet Claude for drinks, or I shop a little, but for you, you can call me up anytime you like.”

_ Oh Goddess, that sounded waaay too casual! If Letty ever heard that she’d think I was  _ flirting _ or something! _ Hilda despaired. 

The little laugh that floated out of Marianne’s mouth certainly didn’t help matters; Hilda prayed Letty wasn’t anywhere near the doors, because if she was, then that insufferably nosy assistant of hers would never let her hear the end of it, nor would she ever act normally when Marianne would come again. And that wasn’t even getting into her friendship with the even nosier ladies from the art department…

“Actually, I hope you don’t mind me asking one more thing…” Marianne started, fishing around in her coat pocket until she took out her mobile. “Is it alright if I gave you my personal number? I just thought it’d be nice to…reconnect after all this time between us, but if it’s a conflict of interest then I’ll understand.” 

_ Ohh. Ohhhhhhh no. _

“Of course we can!” Hilda exclaimed with a tight grin. 

So numbers were swapped once more, they said their goodbyes, and Hilda immediately bounced—actually, raced—upstairs to her office, praying that Letty wasn’t around to pester her for details over the ‘business breakfast,’ praying that the folders on her desk were actually thicker than she remembered so that burying herself in them would be easier. It wasn’t as if Marianne’s absence in her life was the result of a spectacular falling out. It wasn’t as if they didn’t get along before. But damn if those weird feelings Hilda dismissed in their last year didn’t suddenly barge into her chest with the most insistent thumping and bumping and aching. 

_ Please let it be heartburn, _ Hilda groaned internally as she skimmed a graph of last month’s sales figures. 

A tiny buzz alerted her to an incoming notification. It was from Marianne’s personal number. Huh. That was fast. Hilda tried not to over analyse that as she opened Linechat to check. 

_ ‘Hello Hilda, I hope this gets to you on time! Just a quick little thing before we both get back to work, I don’t want to be a bother,’  _ the message read. Oh, Marianne’s profile pic for that number was Dorte the horse. How sweet. _ ‘I just wanted to say that my favourite colour is blue. Maybe we can start from there.’  _

Letty poked her head in the door with a borderline shit-eating grin before immediately ducking back out to avoid the manila folder flying right at her. 


	2. Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my betas and the sweet sweet Plumtea_remus! Now I'm off to sleeeeep because I really need it at this time hahah…

Two things were clear to Hilda at the moment:

  1. Her knowledge of politics and current events was woefully inadequate
  2. Marianne von Edmund was a Goddess-damned _liar_



Well, actually, that was a bit wrong—it wasn't as if Marianne actually lied about her work, and she was always the modest type. It probably took a lot of courage to tell Hilda that she'd been invited to the Millennium Festival.

But still! _The_ Millennium Festival! A literally once-in-a-lifetime event, where the people of Fódlan swarmed Garreg Mach Monastery to celebrate its 2000 years of history, but only the crème de la crème got a (literal) platform from where to spread their words to the masses. Even if religion was no longer the great unifier it had been once upon a time, the Church of Seiros remained a widely respected (and very wealthy) institution. The King of Faerghus himself coming to speak there should have been enough to tell Hilda about the kind of circles Marianne now belonged to.

' _Not just anyone gets an invite as a speaker, and if you're sharing the stage with people like Dimitri, then it means you're in the big leagues now!'_ were Hilda's exact words. Her own words! So why was it so shocking to Moogle Marianne's name and see page after page of results, headlines, and videos, and Tweeter chirps?

' _Junior mp makes a splash at Children's Boating Rally,'_ a three year old article from the Deirdru Post said. A photo beneath the subhead featured Marianne and her father presenting flower garlands to the winners of the annual charity race across Derdriu Bay. Though Hilda vaguely remembered Professor Byleth talking about journalistic puffery, The Post was one of those stuffy papers favoured by upper class people who fancied themselves intellectuals—their pieces were taken very seriously. Anyone who won an endorsement from it was also taken very seriously. And yet the body described a crowd of adoring children who flocked towards the much younger politician (compared to her colleagues anyways), extolling her patience and kindness towards them, rather unlike the jowly old men who only counted baby-kissing as part of their optics.

' _I met her there—what a sweet young woman! Can't believe EDMUND of all people is her dad,'_ someone wrote in the comments section. _'So polite and nice to everyone!'_

Someone else added _'I only saw her from far off but everyone seemed really happy to be with her, and she answered all the reporters' questions very calmly. Maybe she's still not very experienced, but she's got the attitude down pat, so I can see she's got a good start already.'_

There were dozens more, if not hundreds, of other articles like that: _'Edmund protegé youngest speaker to open winter parliamentary sessions,'_ the Leicester Herald announced a year ago. _'Marianne von Edmund in talks to pass mental health bill,'_ from the Alliance Daily Courier. _'Miss Edmund at the Gloucester Agricultural Fair,' 'Edmund mentee showed favour in polls, 'Youngest Edmund paving way for shift in parliament?'_ etc etc etc.

"So when were you going to tell me about Marianne being this big hot-shot?" Hilda whined to Lorenz during that week's Sunday brunch. Claude couldn't make it, sadly, but he did laugh in Hilda's face over the phone when she called him right after Marianne sent her the message about blue being her favourite colour.

"Really, Hilda," Lorenz sighed over his fruit and herring tart. "It was you who said not to discuss politics at our get-togethers, as, and I am quoting you verbatim, 'it's just so awfully boring.' And besides, we _have_ mentioned Marianne outside of politics before—it's you who's simply forgotten, I'm afraid."

"I–I haven't forgotten anything!"

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

Hilda shut up and sullenly munched on a mini quiche before swilling it down with a mouthful of apple mimosa. She so loved seasonal specials. Cooking was a chore, but maybe she could place an order for later on the Eats app. Oh, what was she talking about again? Right. Marianne.

"I've just been really busy with Valentine, and trying to launch this next step in the business, okay? It's not like I shut myself off on purpose or anything, and I've been in contact with you and Claude, haven't I?" she protested.

"And Lysithea, on occasion. Sometimes Ignatz and Raphael," Lorenz sighed again, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "But you haven't seen Marianne at all since we graduated."

"Well maybe she could have tried contacting me first."

Okay, maybe that was a little out of line—no, very out of line, judging by Lorenz's shocked expression. Did she really snap that hard at him?

"Hilda…we've just been a bit concerned. You two used to be very close in school, but now it seems as if you've cut off all contact between each other. I don't mean to pry, but we _are_ friends, so if there's anything you want to tell us…you can." Though never one to shy away from gossip or conflict, Lorenz certainly mellowed out over the years; the contrast with the snobby smarm from back then to the calmer, even considerate person he became never failed to amaze Hilda.

But there lay the rub: there was no big falling out between her and Marianne. No dramatic fight that irreparably damaged their (albeit sort of hot and cold) relationship in university, no huge incident that Changed Things Forever. Like many things in life, them drifting apart sort of…happened. Hilda didn't like to admit it, but it often took a lot of work to stay in touch with part of the Golden Deer, with Claude and Lorenz being the easiest because all three of them were easily the nosiest of the bunch and frequented the same, if not similar, social circles in Derdriu and because their work hours allowed it. Raphael and Ignatz lived outside the capital so most interactions with them amounted to short phone calls a few times a month. Raphael didn't even have social media. Neither did Lysithea, but her case was preoccupying enough that Hilda remembered to check in on her occasionally—the former's decision to retire from public life worried people even outside their class group. At least she had Drs. Hanneman and Linhardt watching over her, and everyone all tried to visit and talk to Lysithea when they could.

Marianne though? Hilda couldn't think of any concrete reason.

Hilda sighed heavily. "I appreciate the concern, Lorenz, but I promise you that nothing bad was involved or anything. Adult stuff just got in the way, I lost track, but now we're talking again and everything, okay? Things will be fine, I promise. Sometimes life's like that!"

"If you say so," Lorenz replied cautiously, raising an eyebrow again. Sometimes that part about him becoming a nicer person also meant his preexisting hovering and nagging couldn't be brushed off as easily as before, when it was just him being an annoying busybody—now it was like trying to hold back from lashing out at your mum. "Remember, you can call me for advice anytime you like."

"I knoooow, Lorenz, I knooooow."

But what _did_ he know, anyways? Hilda could handle her own issues just fine. In fact, she set a phone date with Marianne for Wednesday to discuss the Millennium commission. All they both knew was that the outfit had to feature blue prominently, but Hilda knew enough from her political clientele was that these sort of events had to convey a very specific sort of image to the public, to critics and supporters alike: sophisticated, intelligent, restrained yet also showing off good taste. This was totally different from outfitting her celeb customers. Their brands were more individualised, so they could afford to be as casual, glamorous or wacky as they liked. Hilda remembered how she sold a simple band of engraved sterling silver to actress Julia Christie the same day singer Vicky Bondage came in to pick up her customised gold and diamond-studded dental grilles. She sure made a lot of money that day…

 _Focus!_ Hilda scolded herself. Staying on track with Marianne's order needed to be a top priority. Then again, there wasn't much she could really do only knowing that she liked blue and wearing 'comfortable things.' Hilda sent her a few more messages asking for a clarification, but got no response for a full day. Then a second day. Then that turned into a week. Now, Hilda tried hard not to do petty things as a response to being ignored, but she was _very_ tempted into deleting Marianne's personal number from her mobile out of sheer spite, commission or not.

At least it gave her some extra time to think about her other designs. If Hilda wanted Valentine to have a proper debut, it couldn't hinge on Marianne's single ensemble; it needed a collection showcasing what Hilda thought would best represent her vision on fashion, something that customers across many kinds of demographics would want to wear and investors would see as an indicator of a safe expansion. So she threw herself into research over what kind of actors and fashion trends from across history were popular right now with (mostly) women between the ages of 20 and 40, trying to find something that would have broad appeal, something easy to wear yet sophisticated. Red carpet looks were actually easier for her. Hilda could let her imagination run wild and cook up almost anything, but everyday was a little more restrictive in terms of what other people actually liked.

As for the jewellery, well, perhaps diamonds or sapphires: basic, easy enough to coordinate with blue fabric. Maybe opals? Hilda would've liked to throw in more colourful splashes of yellow beryls, or juicy, sultry garnets, but Marianne didn't strike her as the type who enjoyed flashy accessories.

Lorenz's chastising echoed in her head, exasperatingly clear. _Just call and ask her what else she likes. She's quite literally at your fingertips!_

 _She didn't tell me much before besides 'I like blue!'_ Hilda groaned.

Thankfully—or as if on cue—her mobile rang with a message from the famous Miss Edmund herself exactly five weeks to the day of their meeting.

Hilda scrambled to pick it up, trying to school her voice into something with a little less vocal fry. "Heeeeeey Marianne! How's it been? Great to hear from you!"

"I'm very, very very sorry for not calling sooner," Marianne's apologetic words floated out softly. "Things have just been quite hectic lately, and I really didn't mean any disrespect—"

"It's fiiiiine," Hilda drawled. "Life happens!" She said absolutely nothing about being offended before. Much less how she felt like deleting Marianne's number. "So what's new on your end? I've got some sketches ready to show you if you like, and I've also drawn up some more designs if you want to take a look?"

"Y-yes, yes, but…oh Hilda, I feel so terrible…do you mind if we talk this over coffee? I–I'll pay. I didn't mean to not reply for so long, I really didn't, and I'm so sorry for impacting your work like this."

Huh. Marianne apologised constantly during school, but she was never as bold as to suggest apology _coffee_ on her own. Hilda let her previous irritation wash away at the promise of caffeine.

"Of course, but don't worry about it! In fact, I can arrange for Letty to get us some from across the street and we can have it on the terrace here."

"Terrace?"

So that's how Hilda used up her lunch hour: entertaining Marianne on the private terrace of her office, a beautiful spot partially hidden behind a now winter-frozen trellis. Letty set down their takeaway coffee (normal cream and sugar for Marianne, strawberry syrup and mocha for Hilda) next to a two-level dessert tier crowded with biscuits and scones. She winked cheekily at her boss as she helped Marianne with her coat, ignoring the former's pointed glare as she sashayed out the office and closed the door infuriatingly slowly, and Hilda vowed to corner her later.

"The designs in tab A run from dresses to skirts, depending on what you feel like best." Hilda produced a fat three ring binder and flipped it open to display her drawings. Definitely not as good as what Ignatz made, but she had the art department on call to translate her scratchy lineart into elegant, magazine-worthy concepts. "Tab B is all about the jewellery, and I've drawn up some earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, a few brooches and clutches. Tab C is for the shoes, and tab d has some fabric samples you can check out to get a good feel on, from Victor Trading. They're supplying us with cloth."

Marianne gingerly manoeuvred the unwieldy binder closer to her end of the table. The sound of pages rustling provided a nice contrast to the noisy city bustling and cars and seagulls, mingling pleasantly with the scent of coffee and pastries. She traced a few designs with a finger, murmuring to herself inaudibly. Marianne would then flip back and forth between the same three pages silently. Hilda hoped that was a good sign. Otherwise sitting without a word between them would've just been awkward, and Hilda did not do awkward.

"These are really beautiful, Hilda…it's so difficult to choose."

Well, flattery got everyone everywhere! Hilda preened at the awe in Marianne's tone. "Awww, thank you! I'm just glad you think so, because that means they all have a good chance of being worn at the Festival! Anyone in particular caught your fancy?"

"Well…I really like these pages." Marianne gestured to the three she'd been thumbing through. "They remind me a bit of what Audrey Burn wore in her movies."

"I'll let you in on a little secret: I did base them on Audrey Burn! Remember that one that was shot in Derdriu, about the really religious woman who's sad she won't be alive to go to the Millennium Festival, so she composes a song about it and travels all the way to Garreg Mach to sing it there at least once?"

Marianne smiled. "Singing in Paradise."

"That's the one. I thought it'd be a little too on the nose and kind of inappropriate to incorporate religious imagery—I think Bishop Seteth would have my head for it—but everyone's seen at least one Audrey Burn movie, and that song is pretty famous. So I rewatched it a couple of times, checked out the outfits I liked best, tried out a few concepts and stuff."

"That's one of my favourite films of all time," Marianne sighed. Her eyes met Hilda's for the briefest second, but it was enough to bring a peach-pink flush to her cheeks, and she averted her gaze quickly before reaching for her coffee.

_Okaaaayy…wonder what that was all about…_

"So at least we've got it narrowed down to these three pages, which makes things a lot faster! There're 24 designs in total, about a third of them are from Singing in Paradise, the other third from Enbarr Holiday, one sixth from Marina, and the rest are Breakfast with Stephanie." Hilda also took a few sips of her coffee and a quick bite from a scone. Oooh, strawberry flavoured, one of her favourites. She'd have to thank Letty for getting some, as they sold out rather quickly—right before scolding her for the obvious grins she sported everytime Marianne was even mentioned in passing.

"I remember how much you used to watch Breakfast with Stephanie," Marianne said. "You told us how you'd take notes and sketch each time the outfits you liked best showed up on the screen."

Marianne remembered that? Hilda hoped the heat rising to her cheeks wasn't so obvious. Maybe if asked, she could pretend it was the cold. "Can you blame me? It's such a classic. I mean the movie itself is fantastic, but the fashion is _iconic_. Picture little fifteen year old me barely transitioning out of my ugly awkward braces and seeing the inimitable Audrey Burn wear a black satin sheath dress for a breakfast run!"

"Then why not pick more from that movie for your project? Since you love it so much."

"Tempting, but this collection isn't really all about me—it's about what image I can present to others. And besides, the main piece is yours; it'd be pretty presumptuous and rude if I only did what I wanted, right? Gotta keep my customers happy if I want them to come back for more."

Marianne pursed her lips, and Hilda wondered if she said the wrong thing. "It seems like I'd be taking the joy out of your work…"

What a weird expression, and from new Marianne, to boot. Where'd that come from anyways? Was Marianne feeling guilty like she used to back then, constantly apologising for every little thing? Why suddenly start to back out now, after all the research Hilda put in, even with her other projects?

 _No no no,_ Hilda told herself. _You're overthinking again, just try to remember what the therapist said: breathe in deeply to the count of ten and get a clarification._

"Don't you worry about a thing," Hilda laughed airily, trying hard to not sound bothered. "This is what collaborations are all about! I've done so many before, but this time it's with a dear old friend, and for one of the biggest celebrations of the year—no, of all time! I get to have my work displayed for the Millennium Festival, and you get a wonderful new outfit for it, so it's a win-win for both of us."

Marianne relaxed, tension visibly flowing out of her shoulders and chest in a big exhalation, and Hilda felt her body do the same. Wow. Talking really did help.

"Thank you, Hilda. I-I just didn't want to overstep or anything," Marianne whispered, twiddling her thumbs.

"Pish posh, what overstepping! Like I said: it's _our_ work."

From there Hilda immediately pushed back her initial misgivings and got into pro mode, scooting her chair closer to Marianne to go over the selected pages. "Which designs do you like best out of these three pages? Or if you're still feeling indecisive, do you have those pics you promised me last time? For reference. I can get a better idea of what'd fit you if I get a peek into your closet."

Now the red in Marianne's face definitely intensified. Was she embarrassed about showing her clothes? Her closet? Was there something she wasn't getting? Ehh, nevermind. She had a job to do, especially with the time needed for such a prestigious event.

"You can use Moogle if it's still something you're not comfortable with," Hilda tried.

"No no, let me just get my phone…ah, here."

Despite the temptation to be nosy and swipe out to see her other albums, Hilda focused on the array of clothes Marianne presented: the first section was an unexciting array of office clothes in various shades of grey and white, neatly pressed button-downs and stiff blazers and below the knee skirts and loose trousers. How…professional.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but I can totally find you much nicer stuff to wear at the Duke's Palace. I'm assuming there's a boring old dress code, but I promise that nothing I've got in mind will break the rules…too much."

"Is there something wrong with what I have?"

Ooh, that little spark of defensiveness in Marianne's tone was definitely new…and a bit exciting, if Hilda was honest. "Not at all. But it doesn't seem like something you'd personally pick out."

"I understand, but my workplace and private life are kept separate, just like my clothes."

"That's an excellent mindset to have, but there's nothing wrong with adding a little _pizzazz_ to your wardrobe. Work can be so dull sometimes. But even a tiny splash of colour can do wonders for your mood and self image."

"Mood? In what sense?" Marianne changed her posture from a perfectly straight back to leaning forward, peering into her phone.

"Colour theory," Hilda announced. "It's basically how colour affects our psychology. There's a lot to be said over how certain colours in Fódlan are associated with its different countries and the church and religions, but a lot of people don't realise there's some deeper brain stuff involved. For example," she said, tapping the phone's screen, "you said your favourite colour is blue. There are a lot of different shades of blue, but generally people think about sadness, calm, the cold, water or the sky in association. Physically, it reduces your blood pressure just by looking at it, for starters."

Marianne hummed thoughtfully. "That must be why I've always found it so soothing."

"So we've got that down—but what about cut, and shape? What does your casual closet have to say about your tastes? All clothes and accessories have their own stories to tell."

"I take it yours means you want to be bold and daring, and like cute pink things." Marianne gestured to Hilda's ensemble: bubblegum pink high-waisted trousers and a ruffled silk blouse beneath a heavy fuchsia winter coat; large pink spinel earrings hung from her earlobes, matching the fat gems decorating her ring and index fingers, though her indoor slippers were plush little things with fuzzy bunny ears.

"You know me so well Marianne!" Hilda giggled. "But today is all about _you,_ so I have to put on my thinking cap and see what I can do with what you give me."

The casual album, though not as exciting as Hilda would've wanted, proved far more illuminating than the grey array of office outfits: maxi skirts in various (though muted) shades of blue, green, and neutrals, and very comfortable looking culottes and trousers. Her shirts were mostly button downs or blouses, with not a single t-shirt in sight; sensible jumpers and coats a plenty, and her footwear was ballet flats, mules, and boots in materials like canvas, leather, wood. The few patterns on display were a mix of plaids and stripes, only a few simple florals…but there were two specific jumpers that caught Hilda's eye. One had small twittering birds printed across its fabric. The other featured small horseshoes, and smack dab on the chest area was—

"You got a sweater of Dorte the horse? Mariaaaaane," Hilda cooed, almost squealing, "that is _so_ cute!"

Marianne took a long sip of her coffee in an attempt to mask a nervous smile, but there was also a pleased tilt to it. "I don't wear that outside my home, to be honest. Isn't it a bit embarrassing? For a woman of my age to be wearing things like that?"

"What are you talking about, 'embarrassing?' If it's something you like, then there's no reason to not take it out and flaunt it for the world to see!"

"Oh, I don't want to sound mean or disparaging or anything, but…you've got the confidence to pull any type of clothes off. It's still hard for me to wear anything brighter than navy, to be honest. And it's not like I don't want to but in my position it's easy to commit a faux pas even by just wearing the wrong thing."

"Don't you worry, the ensemble won't be anything too crazy or out there! I think the most complicated stuff I've got is a scalloped hem, some off-the-shoulder necklines, or sweetheart ones, empire waists, a-lines, take your pick!"

"Could you tell me more about the ones from Singing in Paradise?"

Hilda hefted the binder closer to point to the chosen pages, bringing a perfectly manicured nail to single out each individual design. "Each page represents the first, second, and third act of the movie. This one," she tapped an admittedly scratchy drawing, "is inspired by the very first scene, when she's at the gates of her dead uncle's estate. The second is when she's all sad at the bank and then she has her epiphany, the third is from her first writing session and etc etc etc. You get the drift. The most important part is what you want the clothes to tell your audience."

"I'm not entirely sure what is there to tell," Marianne said with another sigh. "I don't think I'm a terribly interesting person."

"There you go again, putting yourself down when I've heard nothing but good things about you! 'Marianne von Edmund is the youngest speaker in parliament' this, 'Marianne von Edmund is helping out farm animals' that. You've got a lot of fans singing your praises!" Hilda exclaimed, almost upsetting her takeaway cup of coffee.

"Fans?" Marianne ventured weakly.

"Yes, fans! I'm not going to lie, a lot of people aren't crazy about your dad, but you're practically a saint!" Ergo," Hilda cleared her throat, "we're gonna pick something that reflects just how good you are at your job and we're gonna show the world just how bright you shine!"

A rather intimidatingly bright red pen was produced from the depths of Hilda's purse. She clicked it open and held it poised over the paper to take notes or cross out undesired looks.

"From what I can tell from your closet, you like subtle colours, and you've already said you like comfortable things and that Singing in Paradise is one of your favourite movies. I remember you being pretty religious at school; if you weren't studying in the library or at tea time we could usually find you in the stables or feeding the birds or in the cathedral. So animals, calm colours, comfort. Obviously that means nothing with a sexy plunging neckline to show off your cleavage—"

"It–it'd be too cold for that anyways!" Marianne interrupted with another blush.

"—Dooon't sweat it, no boobage on display like I was just saying! I promise it'll be tasteful. What I think would best suit you is the bank outfit. The one her character Frida is wearing when realises she's got a dream that she wants to share with the world! It tells your—oh, what's the word—constituents that you've got a _vision_. So what I recommend for this design is to keep it a nice medium to pale blue because you're young, and it's a much friendlier hue than navy or cobalt; we can add some pastel plant or bird detailing since you're basically a cartoon princess at this point, and some plant or bird jewellery to match. Unless you prefer horse themed ones?"

A long pause filled the air. Marianne took another sip of her coffee as she contemplated Hilda's recommendation, staring hard at the drawing being pointed to.

And then, she broke out into a rather wide smile.

"I have to admit I struggle with indecisiveness sometimes, but even I didn't know I'd like your concept so much. I'll go with that one," Marianne said, beaming brightly.

Hilda gulped. "I-it's my job to make sure what the customers want! I'm glad I nailed it so quick for you. Any particular details you want to iron out before we close this deal?"

"I trust your judgement. I know I can leave it in your hands and see something amazing at the end."

Ok, Hilda was going to immediately phone Claude after this to cry a little, because she suddenly had a small moment of illumination where she finally understood his rants about how nice it felt to be trusted and have close friends to count on. The perfect resolution to her weird uni feelings! Repairing her relationships and furthering her career in one fell swoop—eat _that,_ Lorenz.

"With support like that, I'll go above and beyond to please such a great customer!" Hilda tried to charge her wink with as much charm as she could muster. "I'm really excited to start working on this; it's such an underrated dress, because the slight off the shoulder neckline is that perfect blend of sensual and classy without compromising either, and the full skirt makes for some absolutely gorgeous natural pleating with the right fabric. Here, why don't we take a look at the samples Victor Trading sent?"

They thumbed towards the very back of the binder to reveal a collection of high quality swatches: silk, duchesse satin, taffeta, organza, muslin, lace…Hilda explained the relative properties of each to Marianne. How they draped, how thinly or thickly they could be cut, how well they took to the dyeing and stamping processes. They quickly settled on a heavier peau satin on account of the festival taking place during winter as well as its elegant sheen.

"I can wear my own coat and some stockings for the cold; I'm glad enough for the dress." Marianne smoothed her fingers over the fabric square, admiring its smooth finish.

"Of course! Anything else you'd like in particular?"

A beat of silence. Then, with another smile, but one that seemed to hold a playful secret, Marianne giggled, "surprise me."

* * *

It was well after dark in her apartment—after saying goodbye to Marianne, placing an order for more fabric with Victor Trading, and giving in to her residual guilt to call Ignatz and Raphael to talk—when Hilda decided to draw herself a nice hot bubble bath with a glass of champagne. The little things helped make any celebration all the sweeter. And today was certainly something to celebrate.

So why did she still feel so weird about it?

Hilda wrapped herself in a fluffy robe before sitting down at her home office's desk to pore over the sketches she had for Marianne's commission. 'Surprise me,' Marianne said. Marianne sure kept surprising her lately, with everything from not hiding behind her hair or baggy cardigans anymore, to suddenly becoming one of, if not the, most popular politicians in the country. Hilda suddenly felt very small.

 _You're overreacting over nothing,_ Hilda thought, taking notes for the mannequins she'd be dressing soon as sample fits.

But the feeling wouldn't go away. So she decided to call it quits early and unwind with some trashy reality show on television, laughing and giggling as a gaggle of rich celebutantes argued over salads, pushing thoughts of anything else out of sight and mind for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely hc Hilda as the girl who obsessively watches films like "The Devil Wears Prada" and anything starring Audrey Hepburn, but to be honest, it seems like Marianne has more of the profile to fit into an Audrey-esque persona! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> "Hilda, don't deny it…don't deny your feels" me, muttering to myself when I saw Hilda saying that she finds Marianne cute at the end of their A support, then wanting to rewrite them for More Content™ 
> 
> Chapter 2 will come tomorrow at approx the same hour…stay tuned! (I will be crossposting to ffnet at a later date due to health reasons)


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